


Hallelujah

by V_V_lala



Category: Hallelujah - Leonard Cohen (Song), Original Work
Genre: Angst, Background Het, Break Up, Breaking Up & Making Up, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21831754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_V_lala/pseuds/V_V_lala
Summary: Sid doesn't know how to say how he feels. Ethan doesn't know how to hear what isn't being said.
Relationships: Narrator/You, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MixolydianGrey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MixolydianGrey/gifts).



There’s a cup of coffee, half-cold, on the kitchen counter and an 80s, or perhaps 70s, song stuck in Sid’s head. He can’t quite place it or even remember most of the lyrics, but it was on the radio on the way home and now he can’t quite push the tune out of his subconscious. It circles around and around, half-there and half-not, like so many other things he can’t seem to quite unstick from his mind. The rain that had been threatening all day has finally started, blurring the city lights visible through the balcony screen doors of the high-rise flat Sid has become accustomed to calling home. 

It’s hard to not think of Ethan on nights like this. To not pick up the phone and read his old texts, scroll through the voicemail log just to hear his voice. Ethan loves the rain, at least he always had. Loves the way the water droplets accumulate on the glass of the windows, blurring everything outside; the way the world goes hazy and dreamy. _It’s great weather for poetry_ , he would say, and Sid would laugh.

It’s hard to not pick up the phone and call him. 

But the purple loveseat In the corner has been empty for months, and the books on the shelves, bought in second-hand stores for no reason other than Ethan liking the smell he claimed they had, untouched. The potted plant Ethan bought two years ago has become shriveled and yellow. It’s dying, probably, and Sid is fairly certain he should put it out of its misery. 

He’s surprised it’s not already dead. 

The flat is quiet and Ethan isn’t there. Ethan is somewhere else, beyond the raindrops on the glass, among the city lights, probably curled up in another loveseat in an obnoxious color, bathed in yellow living room light. Ethan is probably not alone. 

Sid doesn’t know why it bothers him that he himself is. He had never cared about such things _before._ He _liked_ living alone before. There is much to be said about the solace of a quite flat after a long day dealing with all sorts of morons. 

There is a lot to be said about coming home to Ethan. 

Ethan likes to read poetry in the morning, over tea steeped pure black, far bitterer than the coffee Sid prefers. His hair, wet from the shower, drips water into his eyes and his breakfast and it drives Sid half-crazy with a desire to both snap at him to _please finally come down to some semblance of reality_ and to kiss him then and there until he can’t breathe and begs for mercy. 

Sid does neither in the end, only drinks his coffee and reads the paper. 

Flowers bloom on their windowsill in summer. They fill the flat with a cloyingly sweet scent, much like Ethan’s cologne. Sid is used to it by now, used to coming home to puddles on the floor because Ethan has been _watering the flowers you can never bring yourself to take care of_ and ended up spilling water and not noticing. Sid suggests that if Ethan wants something to take care of so badly, they should get a dog instead. Ethan only laughs and kisses him. 

Sid doesn’t understand why. 

They spend holidays with Ethan’s family – loud and chaotic. Ethan is everyone’s darling and Sid watches from beside the fireplace, sipping on a whisky Ethan’s father put into his hand twenty minutes ago, smiling vaguely and wondering what it must be like to be loved despite being a disaster English major with half a job and an overachiever boyfriend who talks either too much for everyone’s good or not at all and seems to only value sarcasm and cleverness for cleverness sake. 

And Ethan. He values Ethan. 

Loves him desperately. 

Sid has no idea how to say it or to show it, other than letting all of Ethan’s terrible habits permeate deep into his life, turn his flat upside down, talk endlessly about romance novels and romantic comedies – none of which Sid has seen or read, naturally – and hog all the blankets when its cold. 

Sid doesn’t know how to _say_ what he feels. 

And when Ethan introduces him to his family, he smiles brightly and says, _Meet my—this is Sid._

Ethan dreams of love. Or rather _romance._ Fluid, flimsy dreams like air and bubbles in the sun. He believes so strongly that those things are real – all the fairytales about fate and soulmates and beauty that takes you by the throat once and never lets go. Sid does not interfere with those dreams. He wouldn’t know where to start even if he wanted to. It’s part of Ethan. Part of what makes his eyes sparkle. 

But perhaps he needed poof. Perhaps Sid did not know how to be that proof. All of Sid’s dreams are bathed in grey and flushed in red – not banal but not _romantic_ either. There’s little poetry in the dark and creeping things that fill his dreams. Sometimes, Sid jokes that he never has normal dreams, only nightmares. 

When Ethan tells him her name, Sid thinks its fitting. _Jasmine._ Like a flower. Like soothing herbal tea. A name that clings cloyingly to his tongue and the more he says it, thinks it, the more it begins to sound like some carcinogenic, radioactive material. Sid saw her picture ones. He doesn’t want to see it again. 

Ethan sends him a wedding invitation. A million texts and calls that go without answer. 

Sid doesn’t go to the wedding. 

There’s a cup of coffee, already cold, on the kitchen counter. The rain is pouring down harder than it has all season, making puddles on the balcony. The silence is torn apart by the doorbell, and when Sid answers the door, Ethan tumbles in like a wet puppy. 

“I’m sorry, I know it’s late.”

“Are you alright?’

They’re silent for a long time, both shifting anxiously, wondering if what they had managed to salvage of their relationship could still be called a friendship. Ethan exhales and places an envelope on the counter, next to the coffee. Sid picks it up and pulls out the papers halfway. 

His eyes skim over the contents, catching on the words: _Law Offices of…attorneys for Jasmine M—…Superior Court for the County of…Petition for Divorce…_ He looks up at Ethan and can’t quite help the dark, bitter smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Already?”

Ethan is staring at the tiles of the kitchen floor. The top lights are off and only the blue cabinet lamps softly glow, painting the cramped space of the kitchenet a ghostly color. Sid’s heartbeat seems to be one with the thrumming of the rain. “I’m sorry, “ Ethan says. “Can you forgive me?”

Sid watches him, the contrition and discomfort on his face, the familiar lines of his awkward body language. He wants to say _yes_ and _no_ at the same time. Instead, he wonders over to the balcony door and looks out into the blur of lights. “Why did you leave?” It’s a question that has never left him. Sid often thought that if he could answer that one thing, he could have closure. It’s probably always been a lie, but he needs to hear it from Ethan anyway. 

“I thought I was in love.”

“Bullshit.”

Sid waits for the defensive frustration in Ethan’s voice, but it never quite comes. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“We’re so different, Sid. I don’t think we even knew how to tell each other how we felt properly. You chafed at my family not knowing everything and I found it hard to understand how someone could say they’re committed when they never want to get married.” 

“So you got married.”

Ethan winces – a small, pained sound. An admission of a sort. “Yes. I got everything I thought I wanted. But I miss you too much. What we had was so messy and so… I don’t know. It felt broken sometimes.” 

Sid turns slowly and walks back across the living room, stops in front of Ethan and cups his face with one hand. Ethan’s skin is cold and moist, the traces of rain still evident there. “It was the best thing I ever had,” he says honestly. 

Ethan reaches up and places his own hand over Sid’s, holds it against his cheek, closes his eyes. 

“I forgive you, Ethan. But I don’t know… We do love so differently, you and I. You expect it all to be pretty words and…” He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “Sometimes it is just a mess. Not a victory march, not an enlightenment, just…something that will make you say, _Hallelujah,_ even when you’re cold and broken and there’s nothing left…” 

Ethan shivers, even though the apartment is warm, almost stuffy. Sid realizes Ethan is soaking wet as though he’d walked all the way to Sid’s without an umbrella. He looks down and chews on his lip. 

Sid runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Tell me what you’re thinking. You used to at least do that.”

“And you never did,” Ethan says quietly. “We were best friends, lovers, everything in the world to each other, but when it came to expressing how you _felt,_ I was always left in the dark.”

Sid wants to protest but the words get stuck in the back of his throat. Ethan isn’t wrong. Sid doesn’t know how to express half the things he feels most of the time. He doesn’t know when the right time is to say them, either. “If I had, would things be different?”

“Yes… I don’t know. Maybe.” Ethan takes Sid’s hand away from his face and intertwines their fingers. “All I know is that I hate that I lost you. I think…I think I needed to leave to be able to understand, but I know that doesn’t make it easier for you.”

Sid laughs bitterly. “No, it doesn’t.” He tugs at Ethan’s hand and pulls him closers, wraps him up into an embrace, ignoring the wetness of his jacket and hair. “I don’t really know, just now, what we’re going to do. What I’m going to do.”

“I can wait,” Ethan says into his shoulder. 

“I love you,” Sid says, and realizes it’s probably the first time he’s actually said the words out loud. 

“I love you too,” Ethan echoes. It’s the hundredth time, probably, that Ethan has said that. The cynical part of Sid says that he shouldn’t believe him anymore. Yet somehow, he still does.


End file.
